Writer's Block
by OzGeek
Summary: A little late night mellow McAbby oneshot. Season 4 references.


The solid cone of light suspended in the inky darkness had its origins in the lone lamp planted on McGee's desk. Bathed in the ethereal glow, sat McGee forlornly staring into middle distance. How long he had sat there he could not judge but the coffee fog that habitually hung over the desks had actually begun to disperse. Outside a gentle rain caressed the expansive glass window.

"McGee?" Abby's voice cut through silence. Why was he not surprised she was there at that hour? She draped herself over his back and wound her arms around his neck. "Whatcha doing?"

"Thinking."

"About?"

"Writing."

The silence enveloped them again.

"I just," McGee started uncertainly. "I don't think I can handle the pressure."

"What pressure?" The voice was soft in his ear.

"Fans," he said simply.

"What do you mean?" Abby made her way around the chair and perched herself on the edge of his desk.

"Well, when I first started writing it was for me, you know: a hobby. I've been writing forever Abbs, ever since I was young and it was always fun."

"And?"

"Well, it's just no one expected anything from me."

"And then you published," Abby surmised.

"Yeah," he smiled ruefully, "and suddenly everybody else had these high standards I was supposed to achieve."

"But you're a good writer…"

"Hah!" It was a little more cynical than he intended. "You should have seen some of the rejection slips: 'not just a filler chapter, a whole filler book' and 'why did you write this?' There was even one questioning my grammar. It's soul destroying."

"But you kept on because you believed in yourself," Abby pointed out.

His eyes slid guilty to her. "I kept going because I had nothing to lose," he corrected. "It was a hobby, I was anonymous, it didn't affect anyone but me."

Abby crossed her legs on the desk, a sign that she was settling in for a long conversation.

When she had made herself comfortable, McGee continued. "Now people want so much. I'm terrified to touch the keyboard. I'm worried anything I write won't be good enough. I don't want to disappoint people. It's a huge responsibly."

"But don't your fans love you? I thought you got lots of fan letters."

"That's part of the problem: the higher the pedestal, the greater the fall. If they're heaping praise on you, they're setting unrealistic standards. I feel like if I type one bad word, some people are going to commit suicide." He paused to study some minute detail on the back of his hand. "Sometimes I just want to start over."

"Why don't you try using a different pen name?"

"Don't think I haven't thought about it. I even thought about changing genre." He looked up at her earnestly. "Do you think I'd make a good children's author? I've got this story about a guy with enormous teeth and then he looses one and this giant tooth fairy comes and leaves a pile of money under his pillow …"

"Stop, McGee!" Abby cupped his face in both hands. "No, I don't think you should write children's stories: trust me on this."

He withdrew from her and smiled self-effacingly. "You're probably right. It's just I feel like I've been typecast. I'm too scared to write about Tibbs but I can't write about anything else."

"Haven't you just submitted Rocky Hollow?" asked Abby.

"Yeah, the final manuscript went in few weeks ago."

"So don't you get a break now?"

He smiled. "Well there's all the promotional stuff and keeping an eye out for opportunities. My publisher is looking at an ebook teaser."

"Wow, that's a lot of work!"

"Well, luckily my publisher handles a lot of the details. She might look like she walked off the set of Kindergarten Cop but she's a predator when it comes to publicising your work. She's already started hounding me about ideas for the next book."

"So do you have any ideas for the next book?" Abby mimiced.

"A little," he hedged. "It's just….well it's a little like exam pressure. If I think too hard about a new story, my mind just screeches to a halt."

"OK," said Abby happily. "Let's start looking at some characters. Can L. J. Tibbs hook up with his Lt. Col?"

"Yeah, Gibbs can finally get his Mann," McGee conceded.

"Tibbs," Abby corrected.

"Him too."

"Amy and McGregor: just good friends? You know they are just all wrong for each other. Tell me you're not really going to let them get married."

"I'm not even going there, Abbs."

"OK, what about Tommy and Lisa now that you've introduced the Jean, the mysterious, fish-lipped love interest."

"Well, I was going to kill her off in the last chapter but my publisher wanted a surprise cliff hanger."

"Making her the daughter of The Fly was hardly a surprise, McGee. The forum had nicknamed her 'maggot' the moment he was introduced."

McGee stared at her in horror. "You know about the forum?"

Abby's eyes opened wide: her guilty secret was out. "Well, they keep lists of character traits and things and they discuss each chapter. Sort of helps me figure out what's going on."

McGee smiled grimly, "I think my publisher set up that forum."

"Did she set up the fanfic area on too?"

McGee closed his eyes and suppressed a shudder. "Probably: she told me it was good for my book if I let others play with the characters. Maybe I should go there for some story ideas."

Abby pouted doubtfully.

"What?"

"Ever heard of slash?"

"Not apart form the obvious, and I'm guessing you're not talking obvious."

"Let's just say I don't think you want Tibbs and Tommy going at it hammer and tongs."

McGee grimaced. "They can't all be like that. My readers don't think that way. Do they?"

"Not all of them," Abby admitted. "There are some who are just in it for the maiming. There's one called Tweedle who just loves to take down Agent Tommy and then there's OzGit…"

"Aren't there any stories sort of in tune with the actual characters?" McGee cut in.

"Well, yeah, cannon stories are common. I suppose fanfic is more about what goes unwritten in books. That's why there's a lot of shipping."

"They send the stories offshore?"

"Shipping: love pairings. You know like Tommy and Lisa: Tisa, Amy and McGregor: McAmy."

"I wonder what they'll make of Pimmy Jalmer next book," McGee mused.

Abby's ear pricked up. "Oh, oh: spill McGee."

McGee regarded her silently in the gloom before giving up to her child-like enthusiasm. "I was thinking of adding a little humour next time with Pimmy Jalmer and another character making out all over the place. You know, just in the back of scenes and things."

Abby frowned, unconvinced. "You got a name to go with that body?"

"I'm thinking Lichelle Mee: she's an African American or something, I haven't really decided."

"Hmmm, maybe," Abby decided to move on. "Have you got a love interest for the director?"

"Jan Goatherder? No just someone mysterious. Possibly a character she has already met. She's got a bit too much going on to add a love interest to her plate."

"You mean The Fly in the ointment?"

"Very droll."

"I'm sure the members of your personal fansite will love it." She snapped her mouth shut.

McGee was staring at her again. "My what?" he asked ominously.

Abby decided talking fast was her only way out. "Fandom is a huge industry, McGee. First there are the actual fans, and then they write fanfic or make fanart and then they get fans – sort of like second order fandom. Then someone comes along and starts making catalogues of the fanfics or fanart and then they get fans and so on. Your books are providing hours of hobby employment for a small nation's worth of people!"

Even in the feeble light, McGee had paled noticeably. "But I'm just a normal sort of guy," he said weakly. "I can't be responsible for all those people."

"And that's what they want, McGee: a normal guy. They want to know that someone just like them can make it big time."

"But, sometimes I just want to, you know, write other things. Just for me. I don't like everyone judging me."

"McGee," said Abby resolutely, unfurling her legs and leaping off the desk. "It's time to get back to your roots: we're going out."

"Out? What's open at this time?"

Abby pulled him out of his chair. "You're taking me to Buzzed."

"Poetry night?"

"The very same."

McGee smiled as Abby wormed her arm through his. "Do you still remember that poem I wrote you?"

"Oh yeah," said Abby as they promenaded to the elevator, "and the finger clicks."

"Too many finger clicks?"

Abby pressed the button, turned to face him and said in her most serious tone: "You can never have too many finger clicks."


End file.
